Russ stopped be this evening. We decided to go for ice-cream rather than dinner, since both of us weren’t particularly hungry. We ended up in Fairlawn, and wouldn’t you know, totally unbeknown to me, Fairlawn was having their fireworks display tonight! So, we fooled around in the parking-lot consumerism hell of Montrose until they started.
I LOVE fireworks. Love ’em. Can’t get enough of ’em. Thursday is Akron’s display, which frankly is some of the best I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some good ones. I can’t wait!
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Last Saturday, at Tina’s for breakfast, with all the guys after our morning run, FrontRunners, I noticed an older women sitting at the table by the window. Her back was to the window. She ordered the same thing I did… chicken salad. They always give customers way too much stuff on the sandwiches at Tina’s! The place was busy, as usual. It isn’t a very big restaurant – owned by a local family, a very nice and fun family of Lebanese derivation, who always treat us gay boys very well. One time, a bit-off women came in and demand to remain at a table they were preparing for us – she just kind of pushed through and sat down, not waiting her turn. She wouldn’t leave. They called the police. She yelled and screamed that they were discriminating against her (she was white, by the way). She told the police how dare they give a table to those fags, those freaks of nature, those immoral perverts. The police took her away.
Where was I? This women was probably in her 70’s, I suspect. She was by herself, but didn’t seem lonely at all. She was beautiful with her smart summer outfit, completely white hair fixed just so but not in a fastidious way, just enough make-up to complement her face. She reminded me so much of my grandmother. I just watched her as she ate her meal, as she watched what was going on around her. Of course, she couldn’t finish the whole sandwich, and neither could I. She asked for a to-go container. I wanted to go up to her and tell her how pretty she was and that she reminded me so much of my grandmother, but I got involved with conversation with the guys and before I knew it she was up and leaving the restaurant.
Now, I think of my grandmother and how grand she is. I think of how pretty she is at 80 years old and how she loves to dress, and how she does very well. I’ve seen a number of people over the years who remind me of my grandmother. I’ve told a couple of them, but their responses where kind of cool. Maybe saying something like that isn’t too cool. Anyway, I think about my grandmother and think how I’m not the best of grandsons. I don’t call her or write nearly as often as I should, nearly as often as I think of her. I wish she knew how much I do think of her, how much I love her. I wish I could discipline myself enough to write or call and tell her. She just got an e-mail account. I think I will e-mail her and tell her.
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The morning is cool, a welcome relief. The sky is wispy white and slight blue. I can hear low rumblings in the distance. Thunderstorms are coming. It’s odd for this area to have the sky like this, to hear distant thunder, to have a storm approach slowly, lumberingly, without hurry. Normally, over the last years, it may feel like rain, but nothing happens until, suddenly, it hits seemingly out of nowhere. I love this kind of approach – building anticipation.
Maria McKee (then with Lone Justice) writes of her experience with storms on the last track of her (Lone Justice’s) Shelter CD. The song is entitled “Dixie Storms,” and is wonderful.
When I was younger
How I did wonder
What made the sweet Georgia rain
Make me feel so warm
And how God made a dixie storm
And how I loved those dixie storms
And the rumble in the sky
Brings a shudder to my soul
Oh, how I loved those dixie storms
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I hope the past week is not a precursor come August. The heat and humidity has the ability to wilt, and it has. If, during the middle/end of June is this bad and if all things continue as they normally do, August is going to be murder. Too humid, too hot. Both together make it unbearable at times. The city has been resurfacing the street mine empties onto, mostly during the evening and night time. I would still hate to be those guys in this humidity.
Skott Freedman’s CD has certainly gotten under my skin. I can’t stop listening to it. Why? Over and over again.
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I’ve got to stop listening to sad songs! As I normally do, I’ve been listening to Skott Freedman’s CD over and over again – well, actually certain songs over and over again. The sad, emotive, personal, heart wrenching ones.
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No evaluation today. Mess up with Lotus Notes… or me.
There is a new female type staff person in Upward Bound. Pat and I went over to look at her computer, which I installed Lotus on yesterday, and which is having a start-up conflict with McAfee, and we started talking. Come to find out she grew up in Huron, just one town over from Vermilion, where I grew up, on the beautiful south shores of Lake Erie. A great place for a kid to grow up!
Anyway, she is 35, pretty, fit, smart, absolutely great personality, spent time in the Peace Corp in Botswana, is a teacher, was living in Flag Staff three months ago where she worked with Upward Bound, decided to move back to Akron to spend time with her family, especially her nieces and nephews, was a joy to talk with, did I mention she was pretty… and fit, a catch for any worth while guy. But, for whatever reason, I’m not on her team.
This is one of those times where I wish I was straight – she would be a great catch! Oh, and she is pretty and fit – did I say that already? Why do these things always happen? Not to sound conceited or anything, but women just fall for me (I know it sounds conceited!). Where are the same kind of males? Where are they? Where?
So, I have a voice male message after returning to my cubicle in another building from Geri, the Director of Upward Bound, and she said something like, “Guess who thinks you’re really cute? I can’t say, but she said she really wants to get to know you! Call me if you want to find out who it is. Call me on my cell phone.” Of course, you have to image the tone and inflection of her voice being sing-songy, almost like a high school girl. Geri gets a kick out of match-making, I think. Well, it was her, the new staff person. She is the one. Great. Boy, I wish I was straight – did I mention she was really pretty and fit? Geri told her to have a lot of computer problems for some one-on-one time. Thanks!
I would like to get to know her more. She seems like a great person – very interesting. I will, but not in that kind of way. It is an easy let down when I tell a girl who is interested in me that I’m gay. That way it isn’t about her, not a rejection of her, it’s all about me.
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I hate performance reviews! It’s kind of a moot point right now, since I will be gone in August. Who the heck cares, aside from the knowledge of how others see my work and effort. I guess I am interested in that, since I always have a tendency to under estimate myself. Well, I said the same thing last year and here I am, still at Kent (which isn’t a bad thing by any means). Anyway, I’m not much into it this morning. This year’s review is 9 pages long. Nine! Gad. Nothing much more then a bunch of check-marks. Forget all that writing. Forget about the planned professional development. Forget about strategic planning. Forget about any thing that takes more then two seconds of mental energy. Besides, my Dean said that for my review this year, there isn’t not much will come of it.
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This is going to be one of those days. During pride stuff this weekend, I listened to a performer, Skott Freedman (Skott? – he’s young), who was really good. Really good. I hardly ever listen to the performers because, well, to be honest I don’t find them very compelling or all that great. Not that they are bad, but just not that great. Well, Skott caught my attention. I loved watching him play his electric piano (everything was outdoors). Watching him play reminded me of Daniel and the ease at which he just fooled around on the keys. It was second nature for Daniel, is second nature for Skott. Skott is a singer/songwriter. He’s actually good – lyrics, music, performance – all seemed authentic, real, felt. Anyway, most of the lyrics were personal stuff that kicked me into memories and longings and passions that I’ve kept at bay, often hidden, buried. The journal entry I made yesterday kind of sums up what I was feeling all day, even in the midst of the race and tiredness. Actually, the tiredness is probably what opened my heart for the rush of feeling and emotion. I bought one of his CD’s Saturday and listened to the whole thing yesterday while driving back to Akron. It put me into one big funk.
That’s the thing with emotions – they certainly keep me real, grounded, authentic – sometimes ecstatic, and sometimes depressed. I was thinking this morning that my creatively, those things which find their start in the heart rather then the brain, has been stifled much for a good while now. Finding myself working with computers and programming and technical stuff pushed me much more into the realm of analytica – which side of the brain is that? Creativity doesn’t swim well in a dry sea. This has been really odd for me, but has effected me more then I realized.
It’s funny, because I have for most of my life leaned heavily on feeling, sensing, the still small voice inside, to make decisions, make sense of things, and to express myself. I haven’t been there for a while now, but I want to get back to that place. In many ways, placing myself in the analytical way of being, using that side of my brain makes life easier – don’t have to deal with all those fuzzy loose ends that revolve around emotions and feelings. Yet, how can someone who is those things stay away, keep them out there, forever? I can’t. I’ve had a number of people tell me I have a gift for mercy. How can that be if the heart is subjugated to the brain?
In a couple months, I’m moving out of the modernist, Enlightenment inspired, logical way of being and back into the gooey world of sensing, emoting, feeling. Granted, the academic side of things will demand a good sense of study and logical thinking, but the essence of one’s faith and relationship with God is always and forever – feeling. Relating to people, sensing them, discerning what is going on inside them, empathizing with them, crying with them, feeling with them – none of that is part of writing code, troubleshooting a piece of software, or fixing a computer. It is a world I am comfortable with, even though it does make me feel all the more – opens me to the feelings inside myself that aren’t easily quelled. I should be more creative, then. Probably more myself, actually. I’m kinda nervous about that, honestly. My life is more interesting, more spontaneous, more fun, and most importantly more real – real life rather then contrived systematic life. But, sometimes those feelings are a bear to deal with. Where does this all lead…
I would like someone with whom to share it all. I think that is my biggest problem with feeling right now. Actually, the sense of aloneness is quite intense – not that I’m so overwrought with desire that I’m not functioning, but here I am in the midst of the very thing I wanted to avoid – 40 and relationshipless. God, in your providence, what the heck is going on? There are always those stories of finding the person, the seemingly perfect person, and asking the question, “Where have you been all my life?”

It just started pouring rain. Windy. Rain pounding the windows – lots of wind. I love rain storms. I’ve got to find my voice.

For some odd reason, I’m feeling very nostalgic right now. Not really over anything in particular, although I was thinking about John earlier. I am a bit listless and bored today.
Tomorrow is Robin’s dissertation defense. She is so nervous, but will obviously pass though the experience with no problem. Tomorrow, it will be Dr. Robin!
I’m really ready to get on with things. Two months and I’m moving. An apartment with 4 other guys I do not know, 5 bedrooms. The big city. No idea of the outcome, but taking the step anyway. I’m going to miss all these guys. Too much money I’m going to have to spend before I go – computer, chair, digital stuff for the website, and who knows what else. I hope the guys will be into doing a cam and website of our experience – all contributing. It could be a very interesting project in the midst of everything.
I’m really going to miss Pat. He has become a very good friend – an example of the friend to whom I will compare all others from this point forward. Then, of course and without question, Amy. Part of me was thinking that maybe John, but it seems no. Probably for the best, after all. That nostalgia thing again.
Off to the big city to find my fortune.
Listening: Natalie Imbruglia, White Lilies Island